Two Is The Magic Number
by Sahara Rose 101
Summary: Sometimes flying solo isn't the best way to get into place. Or five times Felicity helped Oliver get into somewhere he needed.
1. The Hotel Room

Oliver had always hated the cold. More so since he'd come back from the island but somehow he always found himself standing out in the cold. He stood on the balcony outside the hotel room he was sharing with Felicity, wearing only pyjama bottoms. His chest was covered in goose bumps. But it was ok. The cold was his friend in one way.

It kept him awake.

He hated sleeping now. Sleeping meant dreams. Dreams meant nightmares. Nightmares meant remembering. He'd rather not sleep. Felicity had looked at him like he was insane when he said he was going outside for a while but hadn't questioned it. That was three hours ago.

A glance inside informed him that she was asleep, curled up in the king sized bed surrounded by the throw pillows she'd jokingly thrown at him when they'd arrived. He'd laughed at her poor aim, mentally noting to correct her technique at a later date. Then they'd got down to business. They were staying overnight so they didn't raise suspicion. People just didn't check in for twenty minutes at a five star hotel. Not even Oliver Queen did that. They'd needed the room so she could hack into the computer of a high-ranking Starling City mobster in the room next door, who, in her words, had better computer security than the FBI, and which could only be hacked within a certain distance of his computer for reasons Oliver didn't completely understand. But he trusted Felicity. She'd gotten the information he needed. She deserved the respite of sleep.

He wondered if he did.

Oliver exhaled loudly, the sound of the defeated. He hung his head, leaning on the balcony rail and let his body arch forward into a curved position. These were the times he doubted himself, doubted his ability to complete his mission. Crossing names of the list seemed like an endless task but he had to do it. It was the reason he survived.

The sliding glass door behind him rattled slightly as it opened. Apparently Felicity wasn't asleep anymore. He straightened, glancing over his shoulder at her. He gave her a small smile.

"Hi." She ambled over, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She wrapped a fluffy hotel robe tightly across her midsection and leant against the railing. Without her glasses, the buildings in the skyline looked like dark blobs dotted with white light.

"I didn't mean to wake you." Oliver glanced sideways at her, noting her red eyes. A slither of guilt snaked through his stomach. It was three am and she had to be at work at nine am. Most people would be asleep in their own beds, not crashing at hotels at the bequest of a criminal vigilante.

She shrugged, running a hand through the mass of blond curls framing her face. . "You didn't. Not really. Bad dreams." Her tone was nonchalant but there was heaviness to it.

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault." She turned slightly, looking up at him, a small smile lighting her face. "Unless you're going to make my supervisor run through the halls cospaying Smeagol. Then you can pay for my department's therapy."

Oliver smiled. "I won't." He could tell she wasn't being honest but he wasn't going to call her out. She probably didn't want to make him feel guilty. She was always more considerate of his feelings than others. Some of them probably forgot that he had them. Sometimes he forgot.

"Good." She closed her eyes, stifling a yawn with her hand. She was clearly exhausted.

"You should go back to bed."

"I will if you will." Her eyes flew open. She blushed. "I did not mean that in a dirty way."

"I figured as much." She never did, not with him. He tried not to chuckle at her embarrassed blush. Briefly, he wondered how she'd lasted through high school with her foot-in-mouth disease. "I'll stay out here a bit longer." He felt like wallowing in self-pity a little longer. And sleep was almost impossible these days.

"Five minutes longer or 'till sunrise longer?" There was an edge to her voice that made Oliver realise she was going to make a stand on this issue. It had only taken two weeks for him to be able to recognise the tone. He was getting quite used to it. "Even vigilantes need sleep."

"I'm fine."

She flinched at his curt tone. She bit her lip. Fiddling with the sleeve of the robe, Felicity's eyes darted up to his then back out to the city streets lit by empty towers burning light bulbs. "I like to know what I'm getting myself into. I like to know stuff."

He had a feeling this wasn't an aimless ramble. She had a target and he was pretty sure that it was him. "Which is very useful, but-"

"Did you know that a common side effect of trauma is insomnia? Because I didn't. Not until now." Felicity gestured emphatically. She could've been referring to finding him shot in the backseat of her car, being attached to a bomb by a malignant Brit, or being tied up by his psych-ex girlfriend. "I can't imagine how I'd cope with anything else."

Like you have.

The words were silent but he heard them like she'd shouted it while slapping his face. He was surprised by the subtlety of her tactics. He'd wondered if she'd ever broach this topic. She'd been thinking about it. He knew that. She'd seen his scars. She was curious by nature; she would want to know about their making. Oliver looked out over the city, his grip on the metal railings sliding as his palms dampened. She didn't use the exact words but he knew she was concerned about his mental stability. He didn't like those questions. He didn't like many questions to be fair, but those had answers he didn't like as well.

Felicity glanced up, unnerved by his silence. She didn't know if she'd crossed a line or not but she figured that boundaries were pretty blurred when she was the secret IT support for the billionaire playboy vigilante son of your boss and was technically her boss in name.

He stayed silent. His jaw tightened.

"Oliver?" Her voice quivered hesitantly. She wondered if she'd gone too far.

"You should go back to bed." He used the polite, borderline standoffish tone that he used with most people. He was shutting her out. It seemed to be default setting. A form of repression that she knew wasn't healthy. He knew it too but it was the only way he knew how to cope. She didn't deserve to have to deal with his issues as well as his secret. Felicity deserved better than that.

"No." She wasn't sure exactly what she and Oliver were but she would like to think that she would help anyone if they needed it. And Oliver needed help. He just wouldn't admit it. So she would make him.

"Fine." Oliver stared out blankly at the city he was trying to save. He could tell by the sag in her shoulders that she would fall asleep soon. He would catch her when she fell and carry her back to bed when she couldn't argue with him anymore. It was his best option.

One minute passed in cold silence.

Oliver resisted the urge to glance at her.

A police siren tore through the air.

Felicity wrapped her arms around her waist, trying not to shiver.

The stars shone in the cloudless sky.

Oliver looked at her. Her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold. "You should go inside. It's cold out here." Her stubbornness wouldn't get her sick on his watch. Diggle would kill him.

"I'm fine." She raised her chin and looked pointedly away from him. Then she glanced at him, smiling softly. "I like that song." She hummed a bar of 'Baby it's cold outside_._'

He bit back a smile. "Felicity." His tone was warning.

"I'll go to bed when you do. You need to sleep." She wondered if he slept more than an hour or two a night. It wasn't healthy.

"So do you." He pointed out with the eloquence of a small child.

"Yep." She nodded in agreement, tone chipper. Felicity looked up at him, eyes smiling as they took in his confused expression.

He hadn't expected her to agree with him. She spent so much time trying to prove herself capable; it was rare for her to admit that he right when they disagreed. "Then why aren't you?"

"When I go to work tomorrow so sleep deprived that I make a mistake and my assbut supervisor fires me and I can't pay my rent, you'll be responsible. So you should just go to sleep so everyone is happy."

His lips quirked at her logic. He bit back the smile. She was trying to guilt him into going to sleep.

"And now you know my diabolical plan so you will accept the inevitable." She smiled brightly, proud of her plan.

"I don't think diabolical plans count on their target being a good person."

"But you are. So, did it work?" The earnestness and eagerness in her voice broke his defences.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Felicity, stop. I'm fine."

"No, people who are fine sleep at night." She had him with that one. It was the simplest truths that were often the hardest hitting.

He fixed her with the glare that he'd learnt at age five made everyone do what he wanted.

"I'll go to bed when you do." Apparently his glare had lost its effects. She returned it with one of equal vehemence.

Oliver stared at her, standing in front of him in an oversize hotel robe, a foot smaller than him and silently cursed her stubbornness. She wasn't going to give in. Ordinarily, he'd admire such bravado but it was working against him. She would stand out in the cold for the rest of the night just to make him sleep. He would have to compromise. Diggle would kill him if he let her stay out like this. And even he could grudgingly admit, she was probably right. He should try to sleep. He just didn't like it. And he would never tell her that she was right about this. "Fine."

"Really?" She straightened, blinking almost comically at his sudden 180. His stubbornness was almost as strong as his right hook. Even Diggle had trouble persuading him when he got like this.

"Yes." He pushed himself off the railing and let the momentum guide him into couple of steps backwards. "Get inside before you catch pneumonia and Diggle shoots me with my own arrows." Oliver opened the door and waved for her to go through.

"You can't catch pneumonia from being cold." Felicity brushed past him. "It's a bacterial infection."

"I'll take your word for it." He strode over to the couch. It was small but he could fit, barely. He'd have a back ache in the morning but he'd slept on worse.

"What are you doing?" She stared at him as though he was doing something wrong.

"What you wanted. Going to sleep." Oliver's brow furrowed in confusion. He was doing what she'd asked. He'd lie down and stare at the ceiling for a few hours, wallow some more, and then get up and go about his day.

"A, you're too big for that. B, you're probably going to ninja your way back outside the second I go to sleep." She ambled to the bed, shrugging off the robe and draping it across the chair near the bed. She looked at him over her shoulder like she expected him to duck outside the next chance he got. "We can share."

He looked at her dubiously. He hadn't actually thought of tricking her but it was a viable idea. "Felicity."

"You could fit a football team in this bed and have room for a couple of cheerleaders. And it's not like we're going to do anything." Her hands went to her hips. She was adamant. "It's just sharing a bed."

"Okay." He walked over to her. Maybe he'd gotten too soft since he got back but that couch wasn't very appealing. And he was starting to realise that she could be more stubborn than him. He decided not to ever leave his sister alone with her, ever. That could be too much trouble, even for him. "Has someone ever told you that you'd be good at world domination?"

"What do you think I'm helping you for? It's all practice." She rolled her eyes and she climbed into bed. She pulled the covers up high, pulling them tightly over her body. Sleeping in the same bed as friends she'd gone to high school with was nowhere near as awkward as sleeping in the same bed as Oliver Queen. She shouldn't be nervous. She'd done it before. It was just sharing a bed. It was just Oliver. Except everyone with a pulse could tell there was nothing just about Oliver. She'd consciously decided the night after he'd told her his secret that she would treat him no differently than any of her other friends even though he was a six foot Adonis with a reputation for being a sex god and a messiah complex that would probably get him killed at some time soon. She'd be his friend, his helper. Nothing more. But it wasn't like he'd ever see her as anything more than that. She was Felicity. He was Oliver Queen. They were like chocolate and Brussels sprouts.

"On or off?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, zoning back into where she was to look at Oliver. He stood by the light switch, hand poised over it. "Off, unless you want it on."

He flicked it off and padded over to the bed in the darkness, footsteps silent on the carpet. She felt the dip in the bed as he sat, felt the mattress shift as he lay down. "Goodnight Felicity."

"Goodnight Oliver."

Oliver stared blankly at the ceiling. Even after eight months he wasn't used to not seeing the stars every night. He rolled onto his side, facing the curled up lump that was Felicity. He could barely see her head over the blanket she'd pulled over herself. There was just a mop of blonde curls on the pillow next to him.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He could hear her steady breathing. For a moment, he pretended that it was Laurel next to him. That they were married and this was a weekend away from the monotony of normal life. She'd still be the lawyer championing the poor; he'd be the nightclub owner without the double life. They would be happy. Oliver opened his eyes, angry at himself. It was fair of him to pretend that. It wasn't fair to Laurel or Felicity.

He looked past Felicity, out the open window where he could barely make out the pin pricks of light dotting the sky that past for stars in the city. He missed the stars. The island was hell but he could see the stars. They shone brighter out there, like the universe was trying to show him that it wasn't entirely bad. Wilson had taught him to use the stars as a navigational tool. But it was useless here. The stars were different in the northern hemisphere. Everything was different.

The blanket covering his legs was suddenly pulled to his left. The cold raised goose bumps on his now uncovered leg. He looked down to see Felicity had somehow managed to pull the blanket loose from where it had been neatly tucked under the mattress and had most of it tangled around her legs.. He tugged gently, trying to get the blanket back but not wanting to wake her. Apparently she hated the cold as much as he did. But she was a blanket hog.

He grabbed a handful of the blanket and pulled. She rolled with the blanket. He narrowly avoided getting a mouthful of hair as she ended up within a foot of him. She stirred slightly and he froze. She tossed and turned for a few seconds, the blanket loosening around her. Oliver used the opportunity to tug part of the blanket back over to his side of the bed. Now that they were closer, he didn't have to pull as hard. Letting go the blanket, he rolled the bottom corner around his leg to use as a weight so she couldn't pull it way again.

Oliver settled back down, a small smile on his lips. He should have known she wouldn't be the type to sleep still. He wondered if she would start sleep talking. He could feel her roll over again, the blanket pulling taught over his legs but it didn't move. She was so close he could feel her body heat. Her hair tickled his shoulder. He wondered if he should move away, to keep a respectable distance between them. He knew she was aware of his reputation. What he didn't know was what she thought of it. But he was comfortable. And warm. And the little voice in his head told him to relax. It was fine. It was only a bed.

And Oliver fell asleep.


	2. The Ballet

The paper turned to confetti in her hands. Little white squares fluttered into the darkness under her plush felt chair. Later, she'd probably feel guilty for creating a mess. Now, she was too anxious to feel anything but the hummingbird pounding of her heart and the steady ticking of his watch against her wrist.

She couldn't see the numbers on his watch but she'd counted 132 ticks. He'd been gone for 132 seconds. Anything could have happened. She knew nothing. She couldn't tell what was more vexing: that she didn't know what was going on or knowing what would happen if things went wrong.

This plan was risky, even for him.

Her fingers ghosted over each other, slick with sweat. She'd run out of paper. She wrung her hands. Then she let go and flexed her hands, trying to relax. She inhaled for eight counts. She held it for eight. She exhaled for eight.

She shouldn't worry, that's what he said. He was Oliver Queen. He'd done more dangerous stuff than this. He'd said do when he'd devised this risky plan. He'd put his hand on her shoulder, leant down so he was eye level and so close she could see individual eye lashes. He'd said she didn't have to come. But she did. He was Oliver Queen. She always did what he asked. She was Felicity. She helped. She fixed things.

But if this went wrong, she couldn't fix it.

151 seconds.

In theory, his plan was plausible. Ronald Doyle, a corrupt tax agent for the city, knew he was on the listed and had acted accordingly. He'd hired a small army for around the clock protection. Without innocent bloodshed, the Hood couldn't touch him. Except for the two hours he was alone in his private box at the Starling City Performing Arts Centre watching the Bolshoi Ballet perform _Cinderella_. Diggle had joked that Oliver should take a leaf out of the Phantom of the Opera's book and haunt him during the performance. Oliver hadn't seen it as a joke. So now Felicity was sitting in an empty box staring down at one of the world's most famous ballet companies perform her favourite ballet while Oliver went into Hood mode to scare a criminal into toeing the line.

She wrung her hands.

*/*

He hung in empty space. He could hear the rustle of the audience below him, the awed gasps that coincided with a slight squeak on ballet shoes on the state. He could feel the cool movement of air from the air conditioning. He could smell the pine scented polish someone had recently used on the oak banisters that bordered the private viewing boxes. He wished that the theatre's staff weren't so efficient. The wood was slick beneath his fingers. He wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been holding onto the balcony rail. He'd left his watch with Felicity. It was his fathers and too easily identifiable if Doyle caught a glimpse of it. His face was obscured with his usual make up but he didn't have the time to change out of his suit. He'd put the hooded jacket over his suit before he left his box.

He wondered if Felicity was enjoying the ballet. He knew she would be worried but he also knew that she loved the ballet. Her eyes had lit up at the mention of it, before he'd come up with what Diggle had called his crazy ass plan to give him a heart attack. He hadn't wanted to bring her with him. He knew she was happier in front of a computer where she felt like she had some sort of control of the situation, where she could help.

But he needed a woman on his arm.

People would have asked questions if Oliver Queen went to the ballet alone. And questions were bad. He was just a playboy. He had no sense of culture, no appreciation for art unless it was a designer dress falling off a model or an heiress. Oliver Queen had no substance.

A round of applause masked the sound of his grunt as he swung his body to sideways and used the momentum to swing the other way. He pushed off the rail at the same time. He hovered in mid-air for a moment. His feet hit the rail as the applause started to taper off.

No one knew anything was wrong.

Except the man sitting alone his box. His eyes widened, jaw dropping. His lips parted, preparing to yell for help.

Oliver raised an arrow in warning. There was no mistaking who he was or why he had come. He might not have been able to smuggle his bow into Felicity's bag but he was able hide an arrow. Arrows didn't have to be shot to be dangerous. It hurt just as much to be stabbed by one.

He jumped off the rail, landing lightly. Shadows in the light shining through the gap between the door and the floor told him that there were at least three armed guards outside the door. "Don't move or I will hurt you." His voice was a gravelly whisper. He deliberately distorted the pitch so his voice wasn't identifiable.

Doyle nodded once. The vein in his throat started pulsing almost audibly.

"You know why I'm here." He stepped towards the criminal, arrow pointed at him like a conductor's baton. "You have 24 hours to return the money you stole or I'll come back. And I'll be angry." He was angry now. He didn't like operating out in the open like this. It was dangerous for him. And for Felicity. If he was caught, she would be considered his accomplice.

Doyle pushed himself back into his chair like the inch of space he gained would protect him from the Hood's ire. He gripped the armrests in an anaconda tight grip. "I'll do it. I swear. Don't kill me."

Oliver raised the arrow, holding it under Doyle's double chin. "If you don't, you'll wish you were dead."

Doyle whimpered, closing his eyes.

He lowered the arrow. "Don't make a scene. Or I'll be angry." Attention would make it hard for him to get out. And he wanted to at least give Felicity the chance to enjoy the ballet. He owed her that much. "Got it?" He growled

"Yes." Doyle whispered, voice cracking. "I understand."

People started clapping. Oliver stepped quickly over to the balcony, putting the arrow back into his jacket pocket. He stepped up onto the balcony and turned backwards. He checked that Doyle wasn't looking and stepped off the edge. He caught himself with his hands and edged his way across to his box. Not wanting to scare Felicity, he rapped once on the wood before hoisting himself up onto the balcony rail.

Her pale face reflected the stage light, making the whites of her eyes stand out. He heard a loud exhale and watched her fingers detangled themselves from each other. He unzipped his jacket slowly and stuffed it back into her bag. He replaced the white scarf that hid it on top as he sat down. His heartbeat started to slow. He crossed his legs. His plan had worked and they were both fine. He turned to Felicity, noting how she was staring fixedly at the stage. "So what did I miss?"

*/*

By the time the curtain fell and the lights turned on for the first interval, Oliver's heart rate had returned to normal. He stood, stretching out his arms. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the building tension caused by over using the muscles. He'd feel worse in the morning but he would cope. He always coped.

"Dig says thank you for not giving him a heart attack. And you owe him a proper night off. This doesn't count." Felicity was still sitting. She'd reached for her phone the second the curtain fell and it was socially acceptable to text. She laughed at something Diggle texted her. "And dinner. Apparently he burnt dinner and set the fire alarm off. Carly won't let him back in her kitchen."

Oliver lips upturned at the edges as he shook his head. "I don't blame her." He bent down, reaching for her bag next to her seat. "Can I borrow your water?" He knew that she always carried a small bottle of water in her bag. She said it made carrying her bag count as a weight lifting session. Diggle told her that it didn't count and taught her how to lift real weights.

"Sure." She agreed absently, replying to Diggle. She had nothing to hide in her bag. She'd dumped half of its usual contents on the backseat of Oliver's car in order to fit in his hood. He'd already seen everything anyway.

He pulled out the water bottle and undid his tie with one hand. He poured a small amount of water onto the tie, wiping it over his face to remove the make-up.

"What are you doing?" Felicity only used that tone when someone had done something really stupid, like try to turn on a computer without plugging in the power cord.

"What does it look like?" He squinted at her, trying not to get the watery green make up mix into his eyes. He'd learned the hard way that getting make up in his eyes stung worse than chlorine in his eyes.

Her hand went to her face then flew into space. "You are such a guy." She hooked her bag strap around her ankle and pulled it up to her lap. She rummaged through a small side pocket and retrieved a small make up bag, unzipping it to pull out a make-up wipe. "Come here." She stood up, dropping her phone in her bag. She wouldn't need it anymore. And it was rude to text when around other people. Unless they were texting too, then it was allowed.

He lowered his jaw slightly, narrowed eyes looking at the tissue in her hand. He complied, moving slowly. He dropped his tie on the spare seat next to his and stood completely still in front of her.

Felicity reached up, wiping gently at his face, easily removing the makeup. She ran the tissue down his jawline, catching the small rivets of green water before they could fall onto his white dress shirt. "How do you usually get this stuff off?"

"Soap."

She snorted with laughter. "Guy." She turned his chin with her other hand, wiping off the spots she'd missed.

Oliver shrugged. He hadn't known any better. He looked over her shoulder to the empty seats below. Stragglers were just starting to leave the theatre. Everyone had left to stretch their legs and get a drink. "Red wine still your favourite?"

Her blue eyes flicked up in surprise. "You remembered." Then she frowned. "You promised me a bottle. Rule one for socialising Oliver, if you promise a girl wine or chocolate, you better follow through."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Felicity stepped back, double checking that she hadn't missed any spots. It would be horrible if Oliver's secret was discovered because of a few green dots on his face. "You're all good now."

"Thank you." He took the tissue from her hands and lobbed it easily into the small waste bin near the door. She rolled her eyes at his athletic display. "If we hurry we can still get drinks." Oliver smiled. "I'll even spring for a glass of wine." He ambled over to the door and opened it, waving her through.

"My hero," Felicity drawled, not half as insincere as she sounded. She could tell he was trying to be nice to make up for her coming with him. His movements were getting more exaggerated, like he was putting on a show. He used to do it before she knew his secret. This was the Oliver the rest of the world saw. He was preparing to be on stage in front of all the others gathered at the bar outside the theatre. She wouldn't call him on it. It made it easier for him.

He followed her out, closing the door behind them. It was safe enough to leave her bag behind. If anyone found his hood, he would say it was a gag gift. They walked down the stairs, Felicity holding onto the rail. His hand ghosted along the small of her back. People milled around in small groups, all of them casting curious glances at Oliver and his companion as they arrived. Felicity ducked her head, not used to the attention. He leant down so she could hear him over the noise of the bar. "I'll get the drinks. You find a table."

She nodded, moving towards the tables outside on the balcony. It was cool enough that they weren't all taken but warm enough for it not to be uncomfortable. She glanced back to check where Oliver was. He was speaking to a waiter who looked too star struck to think. She bit back a smile at his doe eyed expression. The lure of the celebrity of Oliver Queen had worn off about four seconds after he'd handed her a bullet riddled laptop.

Felicity hugged herself, barely supressing a shiver as she walked through the open glass doors. The spring night air was cooler than she'd predicted but it was bearable. She ambled over to a table on the far edge of the balcony, as far as she could get from prying eyes without being obvious. She stook the seat facing the view, leaving Oliver the seat with a full 180 view of the bar and balcony behind her. She didn't particularly like sitting where she couldn't see people come up behind her but she knew that Oliver hated it. It was why when they went out for a meal, she always ended up siting on the inside of the booth and facing the interior of the Big Belly Burger with the guys facing the outside. She guessed it was a military thing.

"Felicity?" The voice sounded shocked and distinctly not Oliver. "What are you doing here?"

She twisted in her seat to face Tommy Merlyn. He sat at a table nearby with a beautiful brunette Felicity could tell was Laurel Lance. Diggle had told her about Laurel and Oliver's history and told her that it was more off limits than whatever happened on the island. She put on a wide grin. "What, can't a girl like the ballet anymore?" She tried to be blasé about seeing Tommy but she didn't know what to say to him. She didn't know how Oliver would react seeing him. The two men hadn't spoken since Tommy had quit a week ago.

"I didn't think it would be your scene." He gestured to the well-dressed crowd socialising around them. "You do look pretty though."

"Thanks." She ducked her head slightly, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear. Considering the few times she'd met face to face it had been well after midnight and she was pretty sure that she looked like something the cat dragged in, it was nice to be called pretty by someone who had dated supermodels. She looked up, glancing at Laurel, who was watching their conversation with curiosity. Felicity had no idea what the woman was thinking. "Hi. Sorry, you must be Laurel. I'm Felicity. I work at the club. Kinda."

"Sorry, my manner's escaped me for a minute. Felicity here moonlights as at IT consultant for Oliver." His expression darkened at the mention of his friend.

Laurel regarded Felicity carefully, like she was a witness in court. She didn't know that Oliver had friends she hadn't met. "Tommy talked about me?"

"Only good things, I promise." Felicity nodded with a small smile. She didn't say that Tommy wasn't the one who talked about her. That would likely end in a disaster worthy of being in a romantic comedy. "So are you enjoying the ballet?" It was a tactless subject change but she had never been good at subtlety.

"Love it." Laurel flashed her a genuine smile. "I had to drag this one kicking and screaming. He has a thing against men in tights."

"Oliver said something similar." He hadn't but it seemed the right thing to say. She actually didn't know if he liked ballet or dancing or music but those things were so far down on her priority list of things to find out about Oliver that she didn't care. She grinned and rolled her eyes. "Men." Common ground was always found by finding a common topic.

"Oliver's here?" Laurel tried not to sound surprised. Tommy straightened, his grip tightening on his half empty champagne glass.

"Yes."

"I thought he worked nights now." The sour twist in his voice made Felicity doubt her certainty that Tommy would forgive Oliver eventually.

"Everyone deserves a night off every now and then." A hand settled on her shoulder. Oliver leant over and placed a tray with two glasses of red wine and a slice of chocolate cake on the table. "Tommy, Laurel. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Neither did I." Tommy downed the rest of his champagne and stood. "Suddenly, I am really thirsty." He slammed his empty glass on the table just loud enough to draw attention.

"Tommy." Oliver reached out an arm.

"Don't." He stood, pushing aside his childhood friend's arm. "I was having a pretty good night til you showed up. Thanks for that." He stormed away, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

Laurel looked between her boyfriend and her ex, torn. "I don't know what is going on between you two but you need to fix it."

"I know." Oliver's hand on Felicity's shoulder tightened for a moment then he realised what he was doing and let go. "I'm trying."

"Well, try harder. I don't like being in the middle." She sighed heavily, running a hand through her long brown hair. "It was good to see you though, Ollie. And to meet you Felicity." She glanced over her shoulder at her boyfriend, who was waving his wallet at the bartender. "I'd better go stop him from drinking the bar dry. God knows you two have done it before."

"On many occasions." Usually it was together, each egging the other on until one fell over or passed out.

"Bye Ollie." Laurel got up, her expression apologetic as she left.

"It was nice to meet you Laurel," Felicity said as Oliver nodded briefly, his eyes focused on Tommy at the bar.

Laurel walked away, glancing back a couple of times.

Oliver sunk into the seat opposite Felicity. "Sorry, I didn't expect them to-"

"It's ok. You couldn't have known." She waved him off with a nonchalant wave of her hand. She unloaded the tray, placing his glass of wine in front of him. He promptly picked it up and drunk most of it. "Besides, now I know who Laurel is. It's nice to put a face to the name." She set the plate of chocolate cake between them, nudging one of the desert forks in his direction. "And there is little that chocolate cake and red wine cannot solve. Seriously, it's how I survived my senior year of college. That and pop tarts."

"That doesn't sound healthy." He picked up the fork, using the side to cut the cake in half. He rotated the plate, offering her the largest half.

"It's college- no one eats healthy." Felicity rolled her eyes, slicing her half of the cake into bite size pieces. "Everyone lives off junk food and alcohol and wonders why their jeans don't fit."

"What college did you go to?" He ate mechanically, barely tasting the cake. It could have been made of mud and he wouldn't have known. His eyes were focused on Tommy and Laurel. He watched as Laurel rubbed Tommy's forearm and laughed at something he said. He watched as Tommy leant closer to her to whisper in her ear. He vaguely registered silence and realised that Felicity had stopped talking. He hadn't heard a word she'd said. "Sorry, Felicity, I shouldn't-"

She waved her fork in the air. "Don't be. The last time I saw one of my exes I ended up hiding in a bathroom with my friend for 30 minutes." She speared the last piece of the cake and ate it. "Spacing out is nothing compared to that." She put down her fork and looked him in the eyes. "You know," She spoke slowly, drawing out the words. "You're allowed to be upset, to miss her or whatever. There's no rule in the vigilante handbook for that."

His lips quirked slightly. "There's a handbook now?"

"There should be." She blinked, lowering her gaze for a second before meeting his eyes again. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." He regretted the jovial tone as she glanced away from him, lips pressed together. She was being sincere. He shouldn't be joking around. "Sorry."

She bit her lip then looked back at him. "Are you sure that you're making the right choice? Giving up Laurel?"

"You can't give up a person, Felicity. I don't own her." He really didn't want to have this conversation right now. He didn't ever want to have this conversation. He'd made his decision before he'd even left the island. He would leave Laurel alone. She would only get hurt. He would only hurt her. It was his best skill.

"But you love her." It was obvious from the way he looked at her. Oliver looked at Laurel like she was the one thing in the world he understood. It was the look that made romantic movies millions of dollars. It was the way no one had ever looked at her.

Oliver glared at her. The truth was always hard to hear. He'd thought he was better at concealing his emotions but apparently Felicity knew him better than he'd realised. He suddenly wished for Diggle to be sitting in front of him instead of Felicity. He would let it go, understanding the reasoning behind Oliver's decision.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that." She wrung her hands, fingers looping over each other. She was silent for a few seconds, trying to plan out what she was going to say. "It's just, you deserve to be happy too. And Laurel makes you happy."

That was the thing. He didn't deserve to be happy. He hadn't earned that privilege yet. But Felicity didn't see it like that. She was too humanistic. She was too good. "I have other people that make me happy." It wasn't quite a lie.

"Diggle and I don't count."

"Yes you do." That was the truth. They were the people he'd been closest to in five years. He counted them as his team, as his friends. They understood who he was in a way that Tommy and Laurel didn't. In a way his family didn't. They were the only people he could be himself around.

"Oliver." She didn't know how to react when said things like that. He faded into blackness as the lights around them dimmed, signalling the end of the interval. By the time the light flickered back to life, he was standing beside her.

He held out a hand to help her up. "We should go back in."

"Okay." She accepted his hand and stood up, following him back into the theatre. They could finish this discussion another time.


End file.
